


I Must Have It Painted Black

by Theboys



Series: Master of Reality [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Sam, College Student Sam, Hunter Dean, M/M, Porn With Plot, Top Dean, Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam may or may not have drooled on a stranger's shoulder in his lecture hall due to exhaustion, and Dean likes his Sammy, any way he can get him.</p><p>(Part 2 of Cause I'm A Vegetarian, because I left that on a horrible cliffhanger.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Must Have It Painted Black

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Paint It, Black, by The Rolling Stones.
> 
> I think that this can be read as a standalone, but you'll have a greater understanding once you read the first installment. I wasn't sure I had anything left in me for this story, but it's always nice to prove myself wrong.

Sam’s not a prude.

He’s not.

But Dean is hedonistic

 _and a heathen_ , his mind tells him, unhelpfully, and in his Nana’s voice, Sam might add.

He doesn’t know very much about his new boyfriend, and Sam squirms in his lecture chair at the hushed thought.

_Dean’s his boyfriend._

Sam’s never had anyone genuinely interested in his dick on a day to day basis, and it kind of gives him a small thrill, shoots through loose limbs like too much tequila and not enough night remaining. He blushes when he thinks about the things that Dean makes him want to try, and the middle of his Bioethics lecture hall is not the place for such thoughts.

Abortion is next on the agenda, and the ramifications of what constitutes life, (scientifically versus morally), and Sam could scream. He can’t even have babies!

His mind wanders, horrified, over the implications of ass-babies, and what kinds of monstrosities that would procure, when he feels the vibration of his phone against his left thigh. His leg jumps involuntarily, smacking the leg of the guy next to him.

The kid looks like he’s barely awake, and Sam could swear he’s literally holding the lids of his eye open, between index and thumb, in order to maintain consciousness.

Sam snorts, indelicately, and Lethargy turns to look at him fully, mouth twisted up in a smile.

“You don’t get to judge, man. You’re the kid that drooled on my shoulder a few weeks back.” Sam’s face colors, and he knows the kid can see it, he’s sitting right near a shaft of light leaking in through the wide open windows of the auditorium.

Sam shifts in his seat uncomfortably, recalls being so brain-dead tired, because of Dean, he thinks rudely, that he’d slumped sideways in his chair and passed out, only to be shaken awake towards the end of class by, apparently, this guy.

Sam leans closer, peers through unruly strands of hair so he can get a better look at the man’s face. The guy has black hair and wide blue-grey eyes, even though Sam can currently only see one. His teeth are so even and white that Sam’s own mouth quirks up in surprise.

“Did you have braces?” Sam asks, suddenly, and the kid sighs, deep in his chest and reluctantly opens his other eye. “My mom’s an orthodontist.” The kid whispers, half-hearted glance over towards where Professor Stanislaus is rapid-fire clicking through his PowerPoint slides.

Sam nods sagely, as if he knows all about dentistry and can totally understand. “My dad owns a chain of department stores,” Sam offers lowly, glances down at his outfit.

It’s, admittedly, pretty average college-student attire, but there are labels for designers on his jeans that Sam still can’t pronounce, even after all these years. Sam grins, and the boy looks taken aback, and Sam supposes the unbidden smile might seem kind of aggressive.

“You got nice teeth and I got a shit ton of clothes I’ll never wear.” The kid snorts, looks down at his Mac like it will spontaneously begin typing notes.

“I’m Caleb,” the boy stage-whispers, reaching out his hand for Sam to shake. Sam does, and then remembers that he should be feeling guilty right about now.

“I don’t know if I ever said sorry for the whole, uh, drool thing.” Sam flounders through his apology, because there’s no graceful way to atone for leaking bodily fluids on to a stranger.

Caleb grins, wide and bright, and Sam blinks for a second, transfixed.

“Don’t sweat it, man. I was barely awake for that class either.” He scrubs a hand through his hair and taps half-heartedly at his keys, eyes sliding shut every few seconds despite his fervent attempts to pay attention.

Sam slides his phone out of his pocket, teeth snagging on his lower lip as he sees Dean’s name.

_Think you can ride my dick after class?_

Sam chuckles under his breath, even as his blood lights up. He still can’t believe he thought Dean was Brady’s boyfriend, as if Dean would want anything like Brady. Brady, who hasn’t stopped drinking his way through the lame stash of Aristocrat they have in their dorm room, who is dying because his real boyfriend, John, dumped him for a girl with a pixie cut and a major in dance.

Sam clucks his tongue. He doesn’t want to be rude. He glances over at where Caleb has given up entirely, long body stretched out, laptop shut.

Sam pats his shoulder consolingly.

“I’ll send you today’s notes, man.” Caleb’s head swivels to meet his face, and his grin is so broad that Sam’s own answers his in immediate response. “Shit, really? M’dying over here.” Caleb says. Sam holds out his phone, contact log open, and Caleb taps his number in quickly, locks the screen before passing it back to Sam.

“Your name’s Sam, right?” Caleb says tentatively, and Sam’s brow furrows before he realizes he never gave his own name.

Fucking duh.

“Yeah,” Sam says, pleased that Caleb knew, regardless. “When it’s not ass o’clock,” Caleb says, flips his wrist up to check the time, “you wanna get lunch or something?” Caleb pauses when Sam does not immediately reply.

“A thank you. For the notes,” he says, sheepishly, and Sam’s grinning again, because he may be awkward as fuck sometimes, but he’s always been pretty good at making friends. “Sure, I’ll text you.”

Caleb smiles one more time, and Sam thinks he really ought to stop doing that so much.

-

Dean’s waiting for Sam when he gets back to his dorm, legs spread out shamelessly underneath Sam’s blankets, same place as he was an hour ago, when Sam stumbled his way out the door.

He’s naked underneath, Sam knows, and Sam can barely breathe for looking at how pretty he is.

His lashes fan the top curve of his cheeks, and his lips, smirking more often than not, can suck dick so sweet it should be criminal.

Right now, Dean only looks hungry, right hand languidly stroking his dick underneath the blankets, smooth upward motion followed by a gentle curve of his wrist.

Sam kicks his door shut, locks it smoothly.

Brady won’t be back for a while, Sam knows. It’s Wednesday, and Brady hates being on campus on his off days. Normally he would be at the library, but Brady hasn’t been exactly normal these days.

“Get naked.” Dean purrs, and Sam manages to trip over his sneakers and jeans as he tries to take them off at the same time. Dean’s answering snort makes him flush all over, and he curses under his breath.

“You’re so fucking pretty like that,” Dean breathes, and Sam manages to divest himself of his shirt smoothly, despite the way his chest tightens at the way Dean holds the words in his mouth.

“C’mere, Jesus,” Dean says, sitting up entirely, leaning against Sam’s relatively flimsy headboard. The sheet falls to his calves and his dick bobs free, gentle sway before it stiffens to the point where moving it is nearly impossible.

It’s shining dully at the tip and it jerks under Sam’s gaze, and Sam sighs heavily, in pleasure, knows that Dean’s showing off for him.

Sam slides onto the bed, pretty fucking gracefully, and tucks his legs underneath him, looks across the  expanse at Dean. He’s blushing in a second, glancing down, but Dean hooks his hand under his chin anyway, drags him closer.

“That’s it,” Dean says, and then he presses forward, teeth clacking against Sam’s slack mouth, and Dean’s curling his tongue around Sam’s, sucking flavor right out of his taste buds. Dean runs the tip of his tongue over the ridges on the roof of Sam’s mouth, and then Sam hears the snick of a lube bottle being opened.

Sam keens a little, because he wants. His own dick is so hard it bumps against the taut curves of Dean’s abs, light brush of precome against Dean’s freckled skin.

“Fucking huge,” Dean smiles, looks right up into Sam’s eyes. “So fucking big for me.” Dean wraps his fingers around the head, mixing precome and lube together gently, taps at the crown with two loose fingers.

“Gonna bend over so I can fuck you full?” Dean’s voice lowers into a dirtier register, and Sam shudders when Dean removes his hand entirely and pulls Sam forward until his pebbled nipples brush against Dean’s collarbone.

Sam’s on his knees suddenly, and they’re pressed together, chest to chest. Dean slides his hand up to clutch Sam’s hair in his warm palm, tugs backward so that the smooth column of Sam’s throat is exposed for his consumption.

Sam’s hyper-aware of every gulp he makes, can feel his Adam’s apple, tight and thick in his throat, slight warmth of sweat on his skin. Dean leans closer, suckling a bruise right over the apple, and Sam writhes on instinct.

Dean’s hand tightens into a fist and he pulls harder, so Sam can barely get oxygen in. He tries to croak out Dean’s name, but he’s not listening, he’s sucking marks into Sam’s skin like a choker, pressing kisses in, one after the other.

He releases Sam’s hair as suddenly as he grabbed it, and manhandles Sam so that Dean’s chest is pressing firmly against his back, and the soft of Sam’s ass is resting on Dean’s dick, close as he can without getting it inside.

Sam can feel the weighted burn of it, the thick line resting just in the crease of his ass, sticky tip suckling his skin.

Sam’s whimpering so loudly he’s afraid Dean might shush him, but Dean likes it, Sam can feel it in the pulse of his dick against overheated flesh.

“Lemme hear you, baby.” Dean breathes, a little fucked out already, and Sam preens with the knowledge.

“So fucking strong, letting me have you like this,” Dean’s smiling, Sam knows, and then Dean’s finger is rubbing gently at his entrance, strong taps and smooth glides, too much lube and spit.

Sam rocks forward and squeals a bit when Dean breaches him. Dean’s quick to kiss the back of his neck, drags that one thick finger round his insides in circles, and Sam allows his chin to drop forward onto his collarbone.

Dean’s not playing easy, Sam thinks, and there are two fingers joining the third, and Dean’s rubbing against his prostate so violently that Sam has to grab at the base of his cock to curb his almost instantaneous orgasm.

Dean’s other hand comes around and palms Sam’s ass, smacks him so hard, so abruptly, that Sam nearly lurches forward.

“Wanna see me all over you,” Dean hisses, slapping and thrusting alternately, and Sam’s already begging. “Gimme your dick, Dean. Stop teasing--” He gasps when Dean corkscrews his fingers tightly, tickle of the little bump within.

“Fuck me. Fuck me, Jesus.” Sam whimpers, and Dean’s fingers are gone almost as soon as the head of his dick pops through Sam’s slippery rim, all swollen and wet. Sam braces his weight on Dean’s wide open thighs.

They’re never done it reverse, this way, half crouched and him sitting backwards in Dean’s lap. Dean’s grunting and Sam’s gasping, and his head is swimming with the unadulterated filth leaking from Dean’s throat.

“Jesus, you’re a whore for me. Just taking me, no trouble at all.” Sam slams himself home on that, and he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a burn, the fire of too much, too soon, and his body becomes hot and cold all at once, the way it does when a little too much pain enters the edge of consciousness.

Dean’s growling behind him, though, and he can feel Dean’s full body tremble, the way his dick shudders inside, brushes against that one point so firmly that Sam thinks he may die from this alone.

“You like it like this, don’t you?” Dean snarls, callused hands locked around the soft skin of Sam’s defined hips, jerks him up and then down without any help from Sam’s end. Sam’s head lolls back until it’s resting on Dean’s sweat slick shoulder. He can feel the way his hair is curling at the ends, and he can’t help the punched out groans Dean’s jerking from him.

They’re spilling over like open wounds, and Dean won’t stitch him shut, wants to break him open even further.

“You like _takin’_ it, fucking opening up for me.” Dean says. “Wanna break you.” Dean starts to pummel him then, and he can feel the way his ass clenches around Dean’s length, spasming cause Dean’s hitting his prostate and then avoiding it on every other pass, and he just _needs_.

“W-what do you want, Dean?” Sam’s begging but _he does not care,_ because he’s been seeing this boy for four months now, and he wants to know something, anything.

What’s Dean want from him?

Dean bites him, warningly, just under his right earlobe, and Sam jolts on Dean's dick, screws his own hips a little and listens for Dean’s answering moan.

He leans close, tongue snaking out to trace the shell of Sam’s flesh-hot ear, and breathes the words right into Sam’s mind.

“Tell me you’re my bitch.” Dean says. “I want you to love-” Dean screws his hips up, not bothering with using his hands, “taking” he tugs Sam’s head back, neck catching on the rough edge of Dean’s collarbone “my dick.”

Sam’s coming, helplessly, uselessly, and his breath stutters as he recalls how quickly he’d realized how sensitive he is down there, how Dean can make him come with just the unforgiving line of cock in his ass. He didn’t even have an inkling of warning this time.

He’s chanting throughout his orgasm, legs spasming around Dean’s sturdy ones, seizure attacking his uncooperative limbs.

“M’your bitch, Dean. Your slut, whore, whatever you want.” Sam garbles out, and he’s blind, Dean’s just gone and fucked him right out of his sight. “Can have me anywhere you want, anyway, pleasepleaseplease”

And his ass is still clenching when Dean comes, and he hears the hitched gasps, coupled with a long moan that Dean makes, violent in its control.

“S’right, Sammy,” Dean hums, satisfaction heavy in his voice. “I’d warn you not to forget it.”

And later, when Sam’s texting Caleb, because he needs the guy’s email for the notes he’s supposed to send him, he remembers the white-light burn of Caleb’s grin.

Caleb sounds genuinely grateful, responses peppered with smiles, and one pretty clever reference to The Killing Joke. Sam tells him that he’ll meet him for coffee tomorrow, and it settles low, viscous in his blood.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if I should continue, but I've created a series just in case the mood strikes my fancy. If you dig this particular verse/idea, tell me, otherwise it can end here. I'm just along for the ride.


End file.
